


Of The Many Flowers

by Thai_Tea_Addict



Category: YuYu Hakusho
Genre: Dark Character, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thai_Tea_Addict/pseuds/Thai_Tea_Addict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youko Kurama took many to his bed; he'd just simply never loved any of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of The Many Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho.

The first had been called Umeko, who had more eyes than she did fingers but was sought after all the same. She had been a pale, delicate little thing; well-protected by her family and kept within the palace walls. It was her singing that had earned Youko Kurama's attention, and her speech that had kept him coming back; each conversation they had was carefully laced with both barbs and soothing truths.

The way she had wielded words had earned the respect of those who followed her family. The treasures her family had been rumored to hold were what the bandit had been after, though, and where Umeko had been conservative the youko had been bold. Eventually he had convinced her that their relationship was more important than any treasure, taking her to bed with him that night before leading his band of thieves in to plunder at the next twilight.

When she had stood between him and the gems, hoping to stop him with her words, Kurama had cut her down without a second thought and left the palace in flames, gems in hand.

-

Sayuri had been as battle-hardened as he had been, keeping her wits about her and her weapons close. She had never trusted him, nor had she particularly cared for him; which was fitting, of course, because Youko Kurama had never cared much for her either. She was a killer for hire, stronger than all of his men combined and consistently reminded them of this fact when they would work together.

They had fought back-to-back just once, but Sayuri had then felt entitled to treat him as a comrade. Kurama had been gentle with her, tender in contrast to the savagery of their battle. When she had turned away from him to conceal the blush rising to her cheeks, he had rammed his hand through her lung and kissed her blood-stained lips, stopping her last breath from rising.

-

She had found him wounded in her territory, battered from a heist gone wrong and alone after having all his men slain. He had not called out for help, because the concept of aid was a laughable one in the world they lived in and Kurama had never truly been naive. She had come all the same, however, and as his mind was dragged into the darkness of unconsciousness he could still recognize a _doji_ when he saw one; all pale features with white wings and hair as golden as the sun.

She called herself Hanae. She smiled often, her hands gentle and her mind wise; she nursed him back to health and told him the legends of her land. She kept a library in her home, scrolls filled with everything from human science to the origin stories of the Makai. He read through them all for the duration of his stay, questioned her when he was perplexed by the myths, and allowed her the touch of affection she inadvertently craved.

He stayed for one week and a day, before ripping off her wings and watching her bleed to death. He took special care so that the blood did not get on the scrolls.

-

The smell of blood so close to his den had lead him to her, and he had not helped her so much as watched over her as she healed. She was _kyuuketsuki_ , given to moving in the shadows and staring at him from a distance. Her hair was tightly-bound, black as oil and felt as much to the touch; her skin pale, and when he pleasured her, she dugs claws into his back and sunk her teeth into his neck.

She had no name, so he named her after the flower she had crushed when she had first collapsed in his territory. Thus christened 'Tsubaki', she had smiled up at him shyly and treated him as if he were divine. Her strength was an asset to his band but she had no concept of independence or loyalty.

She had followed Yomi into enemy territory in his first impulsive dash for fame, and had nearly died if Kurama had not made his appearance. Kurama had said nothing to either of them after the failure, but once they had reached the land their pack owned, he gathered what was left of his group, eyes cold. Without pause, he turned and lashed off Tsubaki's head, letting the blood splash over those who had returned.

"An example," Kurama had intoned calmly, staring at his remaining men. "Of the price of such foolishness."

-

Kanon enjoyed the kill more than anything else. The thrill of seeing her enemies lying as corpses on the ground before her always put a smile on her face, and the first time Kurama had seen her, she had been dancing on a battlefield coated in blood. Beneath the grime of the dead had been delicate features and violet tresses, and when she felt like it, she could claim the title as one of the most beautiful creatures in all of the Makai.

Kurama had taken her out of boredom, mostly, and kept her company far better than any previous. She had inevitably confused his tolerance for affection, and on days where he would vanish without reason she slaughtered half his men without preamble.

Yomi had struck her in self-defense, but on Kurama's return, was lashed back into rebellious silence. Kanon held her chin up high and laughed at the demon with false superiority, giving the impression that she was only allowing Kurama to take her as a mate simply for her own amusement. Not once had she claimed to love the bandit, past such silly human emotions and jaded in a way only the truly broken could be.

Kurama, on the night of the new moon, forced the seed of a demon weed down her throat and watched her asphyxiate, making sure she could see nothing but the darkened skies.

-

It was shortly after Kuronue's death that Kurama fell prey to sentimentality. He had run across a young _tengu_ male, black hair shining and eyes as red as the pendant his first partner had died for. Kurama spent a year teaching the boy to read and write, told him the legends of the lands they traveled across, showed him the value of knowledge and how it would eventually lead to the attainment of power.

The male called himself 'Ran' after the first flower he learned the name of, adapting quickly to everything Kurama taught him and doing so silently. He smiled constantly, whether he was killing or being tortured, and Kurama's first band of men feared Ran almost as much as they feared the kitsune.

Kurama allowed Ran to lead some of their men on a heist, and when they came back successful, they celebrated until dawn. As the sun crested in the distance, Kurama instructed Ran to close his eyes. Ran, ever loyal, did as asked with a genuine smile on his face.

Kurama kissed him chastely on the lips before he slit Ran's throat with an orchid. The _tengu_ died with a smile.

-

It was often heard that _kitsune_ were inherently crafty, that something from their origin made them cunning creatures who played tricks for no reason other than amusement or pride. There was a difference, however, between pride and honor; Kurama possessed only the former, while Rina possessed both.

The number of their tails and the years of their experience matched, but whereas Kurama had engraved his name into Makai legends through the scars of murder and theft, Rina had preferred the solace of the night and killed without mention. The deaths done by her blades were quiet, the corpses left in her wake peaceful; it contrasted too strongly with the agony Kurama inflicted on his own victims.

Kurama had run across her shortly after leading Yomi to his death, slaying what was left of their men before moving along to the peninsula of _Shouki._ She had wounded him but he had confused her, and all creatures are prey to curiosity; she ceased to fight him in order to listen, and he turned her against her previous master with nothing more than a few pretty words.

Rina had not understood kindness, so when Kurama took her to his bed, he lavished her with attention so that it would bring tears to her eyes. Afterward, when she lay weeping upon his covers, he held her gently as he pierced his hand through her chest, a smile playing across his lips at the betrayal in her eyes and the pain in her voice.

-

Shiori had taught Kurama love, how to be gentle and actually mean it, how to protect without thinking, and how to hold without smothering. She had forged human emotions in a youkai that was legendary for his cruelty without knowing - but she had scarred this into the _kitsune_ through her own blood.

Parents, however, can only guide, and Kurama could only learn at his own pace. When his classmate Maya declared her love for him, even after realizing what he really is, he knows he has only one course of action to pursue. He erased her memories under Hiei's discerning eye but not for the reasons he had told the hiyoukai; he erased those emotions from her because the moment she had claimed to feel something more for him was the moment Kurama had wondered if her death would be profitable.

Thirteen years of human love could not completely erase nearly three millennia of heartless cruelty.

**Author's Note:**

> I was pretty ambivalent with Kurama's age; I've read from pretty much everywhere that he's anywhere from one thousand years old to one million years old. In mine, he is apparently three thousand, so just roll with it. And points to anyone who figured out the theme in the names I chose. 
> 
> Youko Kurama lived for quite a long time. If he wouldn't have bat an eye at killing a child, then he must have done some pretty horrible things.


End file.
